Watson your face, John?
by Raggedy Dama
Summary: Sherlock has been diligently avoiding asking John a particular question, not wishing to damage their newly developed friendship. It seems like he just can't hold it in himself anymore after a month of staying quiet.


**AN: A few days ago I, as many of you, saw the Sherlock teaser and am quite intriguied(have been laughing at it for the past 37382895 years) by Juan's precious(lol) mustache. All those jokes that've been going around, have resulted in me writing this funny little one shot.  
This takes place long after their reunion in season 3. And this is a no slash story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters.**

**Watson your face, John?**

The evening found John and Sherlock sprawled lazily on the sofa, across from each other. They had their legs drew up, their ankles brushing briefly, with John typing wordlessly on his computer and the detective flipping through a book. It had become such a casuality, having his former flat mate over almost every day, that sometimes when he couldn't come, Mary, looking genuinely concerned, would ask where Sherlock was.

Now that they were on good terms...again, both of them tried not to push the other's boundaries. One could tell that Sherlock was trying his best to hold his tongue behind his teeth and restrain himself from making remarks that could in any way offend John. While the good doctor in his turn, effectively avoided asking or mentioning anything that had to do with the 'Reichenbach' incident. Of course the motives were the best there could be and no matter how honorable( not to say adorable) their attempt at cherishing the newly developed understanding between them was, it was almost equally ludicrous.  
John was sure that by being forgiving and accepting the detective back  
into his life, things would become relatively easier for them. But the three years of his friend's absence had most obviously left gaps in their relationship and now those holes were starting to show in their conversations also. For one second they would be bickering happily and laughing and the next, they would shut their mouths self forcefully and change the theme with a few fake coughs. 'Especially Sherlock and especially lately.' thought John, opening another tab on his window.

Sometimes he thought the detective would might as well explode from what he could tell from the other's face expressions. It was nearly painful watching Sherlock open and close his mouth uncomfortably, making up his mind if it was worth the risk of speaking up or not. But he knew better than to try and confront a sociopath about it, so he wisely chose to brush it off as Sherlock's natural oddness. Which resulted in both of them, how Mrs Hudson would describe it, dancing around each other awkwardly.  
Averting his attention from the screen for a moment, John threw a glance at the detective and was a bit taken aback as Sherlock had so happened to be already staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. The rare eye to eye contact lasted entirely way to short for John's liking, as the younger man buried himself back into the book.  
That coward.  
The good doctor resisted the urge to clear his throat, a habbit he had picked while being nervous or uncertain about something, then made up his mind and determinedly looked back at the man sited in front of him.

"I wanted to ask you something." He pronounced quickly and then tried to make the impression of being uninterested as if it wasn't anything special. He didn't want to pressure Sherlock and lowered his gaze back at the notebook. John could practically feel The detective's eyes on him and truth be told was rather unnerved by it.

"Can't you shave it for later?" Sherlock asked lightly, turning a page of his book. The doctor looked up and regarded the detective with a raised brow. There was something wrong with that sentence...

"What...?" John asked dumbly.

"Save...save it for later?" Sherlock repeated calmly ,almost casually, chasing the doctor's doubts away.

"Alright..." he answered eventually, giving a small nod. But no it wasn't settled with that.  
John peaked from the side of his notebook and noticed the detective running his fingers over the space between his nose and mouth. A few minutes passed and when the doctor was sure that Sherlock was not going to stop rubbing that spot, he looked up again.

"Is there something wrong with your lip?" he asked carefully.

"My lip?" Sherlock questioned indignantly, "Absolutely no."

"Then why are you..." John trailed off as he noticed something unexpected in the detective's facial expression. Something he hadn't seen since before they left for Baskerville and something he hadn't realized he had missed terribly. There was mischief, unmistakable blazing mischief in those stormy blue eyes. And that look was promising not good things  
for one John Watson. The misspelling...the strange looks.

"Don't." John said sternly, something seemingly clicking in his brain.

"John, I-" the curly haired man started, obvious amusement in his voice. The bastard sounded too pleased with himself.

"Sherlock, don't." John stated dangerously, his hands tightening on the computer, ready to close it if anything.

"But I mustache..." the younger continued smugly, trying to hide away his broadening smirk and failing epicly.

"It's been a month, you git!" John roared in annoyance, putting away the computer.

"Watson your face, John?" asked Sherlock in an innocent tone and caught into a shameless, knee-slapping fit of laughter.

"That's it! You asked for it!" was all the warning Sherlock got before he was being tackled to the the ground by the short but surprisingly strong figure of his colleauge.

He let out an indignant squeak at the not foreseen movement from the former soldier and attempted(quite lamely) to wiggle out of the other's firm grip . But John only tightened his hold on the detective's wrists and straddled him from behind. The doctor let out a low angry growl as despite of being pinned to the ground, Sherlock was still chuckling throatily.

"Honey, I'm home." Mary Morstan called out expectantly as she, balanced her carryings through the front door. She sighed at the lack of response from her husband and made her way to the kitchen, which very unforunately laid through their living room.

"John, get off him." She said, not even batting an eye,as if coming home and seeing your husband and your husband's best friend wrestling childishly on the floor was the most normal thing in the world.

"And come and greet your wife for a change." she continued, placing the groceries on the kitchen table. "Hello, Sher."

"Good evening Mar-oof." Sherlock was cut off mid sentence as the doctor finally decided to release him from the trappment and get off him. Not too gently he'd say.

"Thank you." he said sorely, getting back to his feet, voice very much dripping with sarcasm.

"You're welcome." John retorted back, with an equal fake pleasantness.

Mary raised an elegant eyebrow at them, not quite knowing what to think of the spectacle she was witnessing at their house.

"He had it coming!" John hurried to explain boyishly, earning a roll of eyes from the detective.

"It's not my fault, that you have that ridiculous thing over your mouth!" Sherlock replied, while brushing off imginary dust from his suit.

"It is not ridiculous!" the good doctor almost yelled, and turned to his wife, catching her mid tracks in the process of fleeing from the room. "Tell him, there's nothing wrong with my mustache!"

"Of course not, dear." Mary said sweetly, discarding herself from her black fur coat, "It's just, we thought you'd get rid of it...now that Movember is over..."

"You. Two. ." John gritted out, but he was hardly heard as Sherlock once again erupted into loud guffaws of laughter, this time with tears glistening at the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, right! Laugh both of you." John said as he noticed Mary muffling a chuckle behind her hand, but his statement was lacking the previous frustration. Somehow, seeing both his best friend and wife laughing so light heartily and with no means of cruelty at all, made his heart swell pleasantly.  
John also let out a snort at the ridiculousness of it all and shook his head. This unbelievably comfortable domesticity was making him heady and he just couldn't bring to himself to be angry anymore.

Only now, after Sherlock had the guts to finish what he had been desperately itching to say, from the very day of their reunion, John realized that he too wanted to hear it from the detective. He didn't want the new, ever caring gentleman that was most obviously not Sherlock. He had missed the arrogant, rude, self centered whelp too much. He wanted Sherlock to go back to despising the human race, insulting his blog and calling him an idiot. He had missed Sherlock. And perhaps a small part of his old life was now coming back?

**AN: Did you like it? No? Reviews are very much appreciated.**


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